


Fires in the Music Hall

by featheredrook



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featheredrook/pseuds/featheredrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crawford Starrick discovers Roth's help for Jacob and his efforts- the two now on their most alert and careful as the leading Templar in London threatens to burn down everything they ever cared for.<br/>Starrick will make Roth regret the moment he even breathed in the wrong direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let the Flames Begin

Disheveled in appearance was the least of Crawford’s worries, the glories of the morning sun slipping in through the glossy glasses melded to metals, the windowpanes collecting dust in their absence of use.  
The grandfather clock did tick systematically, almost rhythmically in its own pace, and somehow it offered a steady conscious when none other source gave any, the Templar pacing in the office he had become so accustom to.  
The floorboards creaked under step, his black shoes creating an almost squeak as his foot falls became heavier in anxiety he was in no time ready to express, the weight of what seemed London and the whole world resting upon Starrick’s aching shoulders.  
Yes, this was the price of being the King, the overseer in its ultimate form, and Crawford turned to look towards the bustling streets of London in wonder if only just a moment, trying to recollect his mind’s thoughts in the reverie of normality that clinked and clacked in the masses down below.  
A yell, something that seemed to boil from the leader’s throat, and he slammed the wilting flower on the windowsill to the abused wooden floor, his fury flaring even if just a moment before he took a few shaking breaths to recompose himself.  
Roth, the man behind many of his schemes, the crime lord that beckoned tragedy even in his alias, has been sharing work with the blemish who called himself anything important, tarnishing his plans like the flames on a building not yet finished.  
His very own workers were all under a careful eye, all of them kept in line; but now with the offer of chance Crawford felt the very real possibility of strike and revolt, his fingers beginning to tap on the stained wood to his desk that now held slashes from the knife laying on its surface.  
This man would be the very uprooting of his system, and Starrick would not sit idly while it came crashing to the ground, his fist clenching in decision as the nearby train rattled his room, the other hand reaching instinctively to fetch his tea cup before it spilled to the ground with its contents.  
“Invite Maxwell Roth in for tea,” Starrick stated, his voice in nothing past agitation as he stepped over to his wardrobe, starting to sift through its plethora of coats and ties to see which would be fitting for today’s heavier interaction. “And if he should resist invitation, do not hesitate to kill him.”  
The messenger was surprised, and the Templar took notice to the subtle hint in expression, turning to face the other man directly.  
“I do not have time for petty qualms with those who would call themselves my allies! Those who would use my name- my title- as their excuse and diversion!”  
Starrick’s tone was escalating, his body almost electric in annoyed fury, and the man taking note for the invitation shook slightly in his shoes.  
“Roth has been a wonderful asset- but I will see to it he no longer uses me like he uses..”  
His words trailed as a thought brushed his brain, and Crawford silenced himself for a few moments before continuing his thoughts, the teller now flicking his eyes up only occasionally to see what the leader wanted of him.  
“This stain of an Asssassin, this man who seeks to rule with miscreants and traitors..” Starrick began, his mind locking into a thought process most knew not to falter, and the messenger became almost dead silent, not wanting to upset the other man or interject his words.  
“If Roth is close to him.. Then perhaps I shall make use of their relationship.”  
He then turned to his teller, bright eyes gazing forward expectantly as the sound of the clock continued to tick onward, even if the world seemed halted.  
“Tell me.. What do you think? It is always good to get a second opinion.”  
Dangerous waters- the silence as the king lion watched over his catch, either to play with it later or slay it for purpose, and Crawford looked forward to the only other man in the room with an almost curious look, his hands resting on the desk strikingly close to the knife from previous escapades and threats.  
“Do entertain me the thought at least.”  
“W-well sir I-I don’t think it’s m-my place to-”  
“Tell me what you think!” Crawford snapped, the other man flinching, and the familiar weight of loneliness in goals stamped its mark on the Templar's heart once again, the recent loss of his cousin something he would not soon let dissipate.  
“I-I think it’s a sp-splendid idea!” The teller said in fake exuberance, Crawford seeming at least satisfied with the answer, and then sat back down in his seat with an air of professionalism, though all of it felt foreign in his mind past the war of plans that raged forward to no extent.  
Almost like chess, Starrick’s mind was set into sections of plans that seemed to always be going, running, and clashing.  
What pawn would be taken next? What bishop would be slain where they stood?  
Only time could truly tell.  
“Invite him for tea.” Crawford stated again, the teller nodding and hastily writing the invitation card to Maxwell, and the overseer averted his eyes towards the tea cup before himself, picking up the spoon next to it and stirring the now cold drink to bring up the sugar from the bottom.  
“And do make haste. I wish to waste no more time on this wretch.”

What seemed hours passed in between the time of expected arrival, and though it truly was only a short time elapsed, it felt eons to that of an impatient man.  
The familiar sound of chaotic footsteps, the gravel of a loud tone barking down the stairs in chaotic excitement made the Templar straighten himself almost unconsciously, now gloved hands fixing the cross that hung just below the collar to the black coat he dawned, and the doors nearly crashed off their hinges when Maxwell stepped in the room, both hands having slammed either door on each side open in his theatrical entrance.  
“Starrick, dear! How are-”  
“Sit down.” Crawford offered, an unnatural calmness coming over himself that was more than unsettling, though Roth only looked at the king with anticipated excitement, sitting himself in the seat nearest the desk, and Starrick motioned for the others to leave, having now an anxious silence just between the two of them.  
“Well.. It’s quite the honor to be brought to your house!” Roth almost teased, the crime lord reaching towards a cup of tea himself, but the glare from Crawford made him stop, settling his hands to just tap on the wood of the desk instead.  
“Indeed, Roth.” Starrick replied, starting to pour himself a cup of tea in near silence, Maxwell shifting a bit in his seat as attention seemed to be drawn away from the real matter at hand, the one condemned becoming a little impatient.  
Draw air from the fire- and it will be desperate to burn. Add to flame, and it will consume.  
“Tea?”  
“Sure, then.” Maxwell said quickly, Starrick picking up on the subtle relief in the other man’s tone to be doing something other than sitting, and the Templar smirked only slightly at his rightly predicted actions.  
After a moment of pouring the tea and handing it over, Starrick started stirring the sugar into his own glass, watching through the stained water as Roth’s eyes erratically went to each area in the room, the crime lord seeming to pick up scenery.  
“Now, for the real matter at hand.”  
“Yes! Let’s discuss-”  
“You’ve sided with the enemy.”  
A simple statement, but the ferocious grin on Roth’s face now dispersed into nothing, his scar dancing in the light of the freshly prepared fire in the hearth, and Starrick watched in cool patience as the other man prepped some retort that would never win.  
“I do not want your games, or your excuses.” Crawford intervened, the thoughts not even leaving Maxwell’s lips in words, and the overseer to London simply tilted his head in impatience.  
“It matters not how I found this information out, Roth- but I do know one of your crows lies in the wrong nest.”  
This Frye brat, the man behind the stealing of his gangs, his goods, and his patience- the look on the crime lord’s face confirming they were both thinking of the same man.  
“I will let you walk out of this office today if you aid me in bringing that atrocity of a man back to the dirtiest trenches of London,”  
Maxwell’s expression changed multiple times in the conversation, one side of himself all but begging for the chaos that entailed this endeavor, but another half placed almost caution for the crow he so cared for.  
“If you would refuse..” The words hung in the air like a bullet echoing in the still nighttime, Starrick only finally looking directly into the dark eyes of the man before himself fully, his jaw tight in anger.  
“Then I will see to it that you watch that man burn in a performance where you are the only attendee, and he is the leading role.”  
Starrick then stepped closer, grabbing the dagger from his desk swiftly and yanking the crime lord’s head forward, his gloved hand holding tightly onto Roth’s throat as he pinned him in the chair.  
“There is no need to sign our contract,” Starrick whispered, bringing the blade up and slicing a new scar across the other cheek, Maxwell letting out a hoarse scream as Crawford stepped away, cleaning the blade with a cloth prepared for just this deed.  
“You signed it in blood.”  
He then hoisted the musician to his feet and dragged him forward, Roth cupping his face as he stumbled, and Starrick kicked open the door, shoving the man away and watched him tumble to the floor in a heap.  
“Go forth, Roth. Do what you do best; and bring me the ingrate.”  
Crawford then stepped back and slammed his office doors shut, the relief of silence and seclusion bringing a soft sigh to the Templar’s lips, and he began to step his way tiredly over to his seat, the leather gloves on his hands now stained in the blood of the madman here just seconds previous.  
He shook his head, stripping the gloves from his hands and gazed out the window, the sun now setting overhead as a small blur of motion caught his attention just out the window, and he smiled a fraction when he noticed a man in a top hat catching the fumbling crime lord, the gaze of the two meeting instantly.  
Jacob Frye, the leader of the infamous Rooks, the imbecile who thought he stood a chance in “liberating” London from its hold of Templar control.  
Without that rule, the entirety of England would be lost to chaos and flames, and Crawford only straightened his posture at this reassuring fact, his bright eyes following Jacob as he turned away and disappeared with Roth into the shadow, the train’s whistle going off overhead to fill the glorious silence.  
"Run, Jacob Frye.. But when the fire catches you, it will take everything."


	2. Kindling in the Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hiccup in Jacob's help for Roth makes him closer and closer towards shattering, and Evie's patience is truly tested.

Jacob had never been a desperate man, and he had by far never been a calculated one either- but now that his friend was trembling in his grasp, the Assassin felt something inside of himself snap he wasn't all to familiar with, rage licking at the surface of his newfound shock.  
A personal blow- one the twin was more than sure Starrick had given intentionally to Roth in a means of getting to himself, and Jacob gritted his teeth in frustration as Roth seemed to be slowly declining in energy, one arm slung around the other man's waist to hold him up, and a torn scrap of his favorite shirt now pressed to the crime lord's wound in a haphazard solution of medical attention.  
"We can't stay here, dear.."  
"I'll hear nothing of that." The Frye stated in a pretended confidence, the undertones of worry lacing his usually so playful voice, revealing themselves when his friend seemed so solemn and desperate, the two never really having fit together for Roth. "I came to London to save it, not flee it."  
"But Starrick-"  
"Won't lay a bloody finger on you. Not with me around."  
Jacob's protective mindset was only a cover-up for the fear crawling up his spine, the words of promise stinging off his lips in a way that only reminded him of truces he couldn't keep, and the theater man seemed to calm down a bit, blood staining his pale face and new leather gloves as he gripped tight at the Assassin's jacket, dark eyes flicking up to see his dearest crow and then avert them back to the cobblestone.  
"Alright, hold on. I think we're out of sight.."  
The younger man's tone was more gentle than he was even used to himself having as he stopped their gait down the street, turning to inspect the wound on Maxwell's face in a subtle care, cautious as to not bother the fresh injury more than could be helped as his fingers removed the torn shirt scrap slowly.  
"Just sit down here, I have you." He prompted, Roth listening easily as his shaking legs bent to sit on a cold street bench, the twin kneeling in front of the crime lord to properly inspect the cut and see how deep it went past the skin.  
Roth flinched as Jacob's fingers pressed gently on the edge of the slice, and the Assassin pulled his hands back as soon as the crime lord hissed through his teeth, hazel eyes scanning the other man to see what else he could do to help if anything.  
"I don't have any bandages or stitches.."  
"Maybe it's about time you invest in some, Jacob dearest.."  
The Assassin let out a breathy chuckle, his eyes lighting up again in the way they usually did when sarcasm was prompted, Roth starting to grin but regretting it instantly, covering his wound with a shaking hand once more.  
"Hey, hey! No grinning!" Jacob teased, the once dark air around the two light and tired again, and Maxwell snickered. "Don't you know that for the first time ever, it hurts you more to smile than frown!"  
But the pale demeanor of Roth made the twin falter on his words, noticing the other man forcing himself to stay attentive to Jacob's every word, like it was a challenge just to focus.  
"Roth.. What's wrong?" Jacob asked with a hint of play still in his vocals, but soon became more concerned when Maxwell was silent, not responding at all. "Maxwell, hey!"  
The crime lord then slumped forward in his seat, the Assassin catching the other man on his shoulder, one hand pushing on Roth's chest to catch his weight, and a nauseous fear flipped the twin's stomach, Jacob taking Maxwell's face into his palms to try and get a better look at him.  
"Roth!"  
The anxious blurt of the other's name echoed in the streets, and only now did it hit the Assassin that the wound on his cheek wasn't the real issue, the complexion of his friend and the purple near the wound having been a dead give away had he taken time to think on it.  
Poison, and something strong by the looks of it.  
"Fucking hell, Maxwell!" The Assassin barked out in anxiety, lifting the other man in his arms with a grunt, and began booking it as fast as he could to the train, praying that it had halted in it's usual stationary position, the snow dusting down from the clouds above them making Jacob's fingers go numb along with his ears with icy persistence- but that was a trivial thing compared to the man practically dying in his arms.  
If he knew anything about Roth thus far in their escapades though- he was one tough son of a bitch, albeit mentally or somewhat physically.  
"Just.. Stay with me!"  
The wheezed assurance for the crime lord was mostly for Jacob, the silent night in London slipping by them as he sprinted forward, the limp form of his friend slowly fading in warmth as the Assassin strained himself to move faster, the familiar sound of the the oncoming train a gift he was for the first time thankful for, his eyes catching the lights in it before guessing a route of how to jump on it with another person in his hold.  
Time was slipping by the more the twin did nothing to stall the poison shattering in Maxwell's veins, and the more desperate and jagged the movements of Jacob's parkour proved his distress, finally bolting next the train speeding down the track before throwing himself into it, the two men tumbling to the ground in a heap, Evie letting out a surprised shriek.  
"Jacob! Are- are you alright?!"  
"Not.. now.. Roth.. poisoned.." The male twin raggedly breathed out, his chest heaving in the effort it took to board the train in time, his heart feeling like it was about to explode from how fast it thundered in his chest, and Evie quickly knelt down next to Roth's limp form to cheek for a pulse.  
"He's alive," She mumbled out, flicking a glance over at her winded brother before hoisting the thinner man up with a concentrated exhale, setting him gently on the couch before beginning to fumble through her pouch attached to a strap on her pants leg.  
"Did you see what poison it was?" The intrepid sister questioned, Jacob flopping his arms in unknowing exhaustion, the female Assassin letting out a weary grumble.  
"Very helpful, Jacob. Thanks."  
After a hurried twenty seconds, Evie's turquoise eyes scanned the man's limp form for a proper location to inject the antidote, Jacob rising slowly to his feet.  
"Just give him the bloody cure already!"  
"Shut it!"  
The sister let out a sigh before placing a hand steadily on Roth's leg, forgoing precautions of any kind, and plunged the syringe into the crime lord's thigh, hoping that it aided in getting into his bloodstream faster that way, and not the slow method she first thought of taking, her hands trembling as she pulled the needle away and sat back, hoping the antidote worked in saving the other's life at least.  
After a few pain staking moments of silence, Maxwell let out a hoarse cough, both pairs of intense eyes staring at the other man gaining a relieved look, and Jacob limped over to his friend who slowly coughed and wheezed in the comfortable chair, the Assassin putting a hand on the side of Roth's face to try and rouse him to somewhat of a focused consciousness.  
"Hey- Roth. Roth!"  
Jacob slapped the side of the crime lord's face gently, his hand patting the healed but scarred cheek, and Roth's dark orbs finally rested on the man before himself, Evie trying to explain the whole scenario with what little she knew, to Henry.  
"Don't you ever do that again you crazy man!" Jacob said in a strained tone, but his signature chuckle still escaping his throat, the other man simply laughing tiredly before dozing off against the Assassin's palm, Jacob's face gaining a gentle expression as a flutter spread in his chest.  
He looked so damn peaceful, and the twin sat there a moment until Evie cleared her throat, the world losing its serenity for a new feeling of dread, the other twin tapping her foot in stressed annoyance.  
"I believe you owe us an explanation."  
"On what? The way the train works? How the sun rises? The telephone? Just ask Graham Bell-"  
"Your friend." Mr.Green prompted, his amber eyes falling on their unexpected guest, and Jacob curled his lip as he felt the familiarity of a nagging mother and father chastising their child for a minute mistake, a defeated groan escaping Jacob's lips.  
"Well, Greenie," He said with annoyed emphasis, Evie glaring forward at her twin, but watched in silence as he continued to explain the scenario and its happenstances.  
"This is Roth-"  
"I got that part!" The other twin snapped, her show of crass behavior only fueled by her distinct concern, and Jacob was quick to retort.  
"Jesus, Evie, calm down! You might get a hernia with all that yelling!"  
"How dare you!"  
"Dare I what, sister dearest? You'd help out Greenie in any scenario! So why can't I help someone I.."  
"You what?"  
The statement hung in the air like a frozen clock, and Evie gazed from Roth back to Jacob before she stepped back a bit, shock now creeping its way into her expression, Henry looking at the other Assassin nearest to him in concern.  
"Ms.Frye, what is wr-"  
"Not now, Henry."  
"It's not what you think!" Jacob retorted, his cheeks dusting in a harsh blush from ear to ear, and for the first time ever he almost felt ashamed of his actions, his intense eyes flicking up to Evie's conflicted own, and he felt something in himself snap.  
"And you know what?" He stood in a horrid rage, feeling the biting loss of their father sneaking back to stab at his heart when he least expected it, his sister's mannerisms just like their old man's had been. "So what if I love Roth? Would it really be a hindrance- or- or some kind of bother?!"  
"Jacob that's not what I-"  
"Would it really matter?! Do I even matter?!"  
Jacob's tone was rising, right along with his adrenaline and breathing, his breaths now ragged again from rage, his steps getting closer to his sister in a blind fury.  
"Jacob, please! I-"  
"SHUT UP FATHER!"  
The words hung in suspension, tears trickling their way down the male Frye's blushed cheeks, heaving like he might throw up with a knot tying in his stomach, and suddenly he remembered where he was, Evie gazing up at her brother in horror, and he stumbled back, the weight of almost losing another friend finally making his first layer surrounding his fragile heart crack into a million pieces.  
The flames of loss kindle in the pit of despair.. what is it to say about the actions that follow it?  
"Jacob.." Evie mumbled after a few moments of composing herself, reaching a trembling hand out to take her brother's own, and she began rubbing his hand in a circular motion, just as father had when either of them were stressed, and the other twin began to hiccup. "I've not replaced him.. I never will."  
"It seems like all you do is act like father.." Jacob replied bitterly, Evie simply pulling her brother into an embrace and rubbing his back instead, the air now calm in the infinite compassion the female twin held for her sibling.  
''I promise, I'm not replacing him.."  
"He's.. really gone, huh?"  
"Yes.."  
Amidst the chaos of the evening, the two found slight healing in remembering their father, and Jacob felt thankful for maybe the first time in his life that Evie was so patient with his brash actions and loud mouth, knowing this could have gone much more awry than it had.  
"I love you, Jacob.."  
"You too, sis."  
Her original concern for Jacob was not of his love for Maxwell, but the danger his alliances took, the presence of Henry looking on in the background with a gentle acceptance giving the other Frye strength to be the bedrock her brother needed- the one they both needed, and the train continued to clack onward in the now early morning dawn, snow biting at the windows around them, and the sun hardly began peaking over the buildings that rushed right by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like my writing is always so short..

**Author's Note:**

> The story is rated mature for later on!  
> (I based this story off of a prompt I made for someone on tumblr! I hope this is a good first story.. Thank you for reading!)


End file.
